It's Monday morning in the room with the ancestors. I am getting used to the room, the bed, the house that my father built, the quiet atmosphere early in the morning in this small town of my forefathers.
Down to breakfast with Peter and Christel. I have not yet mentioned what wonderful hosts they both are. Peter has the breakfast set each morning for us, we enjoy the morning coffee, the latest news in the Volksfreund, see if Fritz-Peter has any articles or photos in the paper - Peter always proudly points them out right away. It is as comfortable as being with friends we have known all our lives.
This is the morning Maria had planned to come for a visit. She arrives and shares a coffee. The visit is shorter than planned because we have only this morning to visit Uncle Willi, our father's youngest brother. Uncle Willi had a slight stroke about ten days ago and is going to the Rehab Clinic tomorrow.
Maria wants to know everything about me. We are still learning who we are as sisters. In fact, this whole sister experience is very new to me. I have always thought of myself as an only child. Now I am learning to be a part of a sibling group at this late stage in my life - exciting , but a little scary too.
After Maria's visit, Christel, David and I go down to Uncle Willi and Aunt Emma's house. This is one visit I have been looking forward to - yet with some apprehension. Uncle Willi has that direct connection to the time when I was in Germany as a young child, to the time when I met our father, to the time when we said good-bye and went to Canada - to that time that I cannot remember.
Uncle Willi and Aunt Emma, his wife of over sixty years, are very warm and gracious in their welcome. I search Uncle Willi's face to see if there is something that will trigger a memory. I ask politely and nervously if I can call him "Uncle Willi". His gentle, "of course," and his big hug, soothe the last of my fears.
Uncle Willi loves to tell stories. And I am listening attentively, eager to learn all I can, trying to understand the lilt of the "Platt" or dialect of the Eifel as the conversation moves from "Platt" to High German and back.
My mother spoke a Mennonite "Platt" - or low German as we called it, so most of the words in the Eifel "Platt" are familiar to me. But I have to really concentrate when everyone talks quickly or when several conversations are going on at the same time.
It is obvious that Uncle Willi loved our father deeply. His eyes fill with tears when he talks about his beloved older brother, Fritz. He gets particularly emotional when he tells of the time he saw his older brother for the first time after the war, after he came out of the POW camp. He says that Fritz was a shadow of himself, with deep sunken eyes. My eyes fill with tears as well.
Uncle Willi goes on and tells other stories of Fritz and his adventures in his youth. He tells me that if I have anything of the character of my father, my husband will have "Pech" - better known as trouble. Do I tell him that it's too late now?
I learn a lot about our father from Uncle Willi. I learn that he was boisterous in his youth - maybe even a bit on the wild side at times. He was very intelligent but because the family was poor, he could not continue his studies. He worked hard at his job as a "Strassenmeister", a job he learned working with his father; eventually he gained responsibilty for his own stretch of highway to look after and keep in good repair.
Our father was a tall, strong man with a wonderful sense of humour, a very caring heart and a strong sense of fair play.
Our father was the Mayor of Stadtkyll for ten years. There is laughter as Uncle Willi recalls the first time that Fritz put his name forward for mayor, and the shennanigans of that campaign. I think that I must share my father's outlook on election campaigns. Always organize the spontaneity. I have organized many campaigns in my past and found that philosophy produced the best results!
I ask Uncle Willi how long he has known about my existence. He tells me since 1947. More importantly, he tells me that he knows where my mother and father and I met to say good-bye before we left for Canada. In vain, I again search his face for triggers to my own memories.
Before we leave, Uncle Willi gives me a book of photos of Stadtkyll from the early 1900's on and he accepts my booklet of photos of my children and grandchildren.
As we take our leave, we walk by Uncle Willi's wall of trophies. He has entered many marathons and has won many trophies. I feel so happy and so lucky that I have met him and Aunt Emma.
We go back to Christel's where Peter has cooked us dinner. It seems that Peter makes most of the meals. He is an excellent cook, as is Christel. It's just that he really enjoys cooking, and Christel and I share a certain dislike of cooking and baking. We would probably rather read - another shared interest.
Our afternoon plan is to go to the cemetery and replant the flowers at the grave of our father and Christel's mother. The deer have been eating the pansies that Christel planted earlier in the month. After a visit to a garden centre in Junkerath, we take the plants back up and return to that quiet place overlooking the city.
It is a shared labour of love, this honouring of those who have suffered so much, by caring for their final resting place. And it is also a wonderfully bonding experience for Christel and me. We chat with the caretaker of the cemetery, we walk among all the family graves, and we visit the part of the cemetery where the soldiers are buried. Christel tells poignant stories of one or two soldiers buried there. We meet a lady who spends time caring for this part of the cemetery and we sit and talk to her while she rests for a bit.
Walking back to Christel and Peter's house, we pass Tante Maria's house and take the chance that now might be a good time to visit her. Tante Maria is another of our father's siblings. She is 94 years old, in failing health, has memory problems, and is bedridden. Her daughter welcomes us to come in. We stand at her bedside. Refering to me, Christel takes Tante Maria's face in her hands and says, "You remember our father had another child - well, this is that child." "What a lovely child," says Tante Maria. She smiles and says nothing more. What a heartwarming end to the afternoon.
Down to breakfast with Peter and Christel. I have not yet mentioned what wonderful hosts they both are. Peter has the breakfast set each morning for us, we enjoy the morning coffee, the latest news in the Volksfreund, see if Fritz-Peter has any articles or photos in the paper - Peter always proudly points them out right away. It is as comfortable as being with friends we have known all our lives.
This is the morning Maria had planned to come for a visit. She arrives and shares a coffee. The visit is shorter than planned because we have only this morning to visit Uncle Willi, our father's youngest brother. Uncle Willi had a slight stroke about ten days ago and is going to the Rehab Clinic tomorrow.
Maria wants to know everything about me. We are still learning who we are as sisters. In fact, this whole sister experience is very new to me. I have always thought of myself as an only child. Now I am learning to be a part of a sibling group at this late stage in my life - exciting , but a little scary too.
After Maria's visit, Christel, David and I go down to Uncle Willi and Aunt Emma's house. This is one visit I have been looking forward to - yet with some apprehension. Uncle Willi has that direct connection to the time when I was in Germany as a young child, to the time when I met our father, to the time when we said good-bye and went to Canada - to that time that I cannot remember.
Uncle Willi and Aunt Emma, his wife of over sixty years, are very warm and gracious in their welcome. I search Uncle Willi's face to see if there is something that will trigger a memory. I ask politely and nervously if I can call him "Uncle Willi". His gentle, "of course," and his big hug, soothe the last of my fears.
Uncle Willi loves to tell stories. And I am listening attentively, eager to learn all I can, trying to understand the lilt of the "Platt" or dialect of the Eifel as the conversation moves from "Platt" to High German and back.
My mother spoke a Mennonite "Platt" - or low German as we called it, so most of the words in the Eifel "Platt" are familiar to me. But I have to really concentrate when everyone talks quickly or when several conversations are going on at the same time.
It is obvious that Uncle Willi loved our father deeply. His eyes fill with tears when he talks about his beloved older brother, Fritz. He gets particularly emotional when he tells of the time he saw his older brother for the first time after the war, after he came out of the POW camp. He says that Fritz was a shadow of himself, with deep sunken eyes. My eyes fill with tears as well.
Uncle Willi goes on and tells other stories of Fritz and his adventures in his youth. He tells me that if I have anything of the character of my father, my husband will have "Pech" - better known as trouble. Do I tell him that it's too late now?
I learn a lot about our father from Uncle Willi. I learn that he was boisterous in his youth - maybe even a bit on the wild side at times. He was very intelligent but because the family was poor, he could not continue his studies. He worked hard at his job as a "Strassenmeister", a job he learned working with his father; eventually he gained responsibilty for his own stretch of highway to look after and keep in good repair.
Our father was a tall, strong man with a wonderful sense of humour, a very caring heart and a strong sense of fair play.
Our father was the Mayor of Stadtkyll for ten years. There is laughter as Uncle Willi recalls the first time that Fritz put his name forward for mayor, and the shennanigans of that campaign. I think that I must share my father's outlook on election campaigns. Always organize the spontaneity. I have organized many campaigns in my past and found that philosophy produced the best results!
I ask Uncle Willi how long he has known about my existence. He tells me since 1947. More importantly, he tells me that he knows where my mother and father and I met to say good-bye before we left for Canada. In vain, I again search his face for triggers to my own memories.
Before we leave, Uncle Willi gives me a book of photos of Stadtkyll from the early 1900's on and he accepts my booklet of photos of my children and grandchildren.
As we take our leave, we walk by Uncle Willi's wall of trophies. He has entered many marathons and has won many trophies. I feel so happy and so lucky that I have met him and Aunt Emma.
We go back to Christel's where Peter has cooked us dinner. It seems that Peter makes most of the meals. He is an excellent cook, as is Christel. It's just that he really enjoys cooking, and Christel and I share a certain dislike of cooking and baking. We would probably rather read - another shared interest.
Our afternoon plan is to go to the cemetery and replant the flowers at the grave of our father and Christel's mother. The deer have been eating the pansies that Christel planted earlier in the month. After a visit to a garden centre in Junkerath, we take the plants back up and return to that quiet place overlooking the city.
It is a shared labour of love, this honouring of those who have suffered so much, by caring for their final resting place. And it is also a wonderfully bonding experience for Christel and me. We chat with the caretaker of the cemetery, we walk among all the family graves, and we visit the part of the cemetery where the soldiers are buried. Christel tells poignant stories of one or two soldiers buried there. We meet a lady who spends time caring for this part of the cemetery and we sit and talk to her while she rests for a bit.
Walking back to Christel and Peter's house, we pass Tante Maria's house and take the chance that now might be a good time to visit her. Tante Maria is another of our father's siblings. She is 94 years old, in failing health, has memory problems, and is bedridden. Her daughter welcomes us to come in. We stand at her bedside. Refering to me, Christel takes Tante Maria's face in her hands and says, "You remember our father had another child - well, this is that child." "What a lovely child," says Tante Maria. She smiles and says nothing more. What a heartwarming end to the afternoon.
Tante Maria passed quietly in her sleep this week. I am so glad I was able to see her at least once. She had a long, active life - she was 94 years old. Our deepest sympathies go to her children and their families.
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